


Learning Through Past Solecisms

by Katie_Phars



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Peter Parker, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Might not seem like it though, Minor Character Death, Parental Steve Rogers, Peter Parker From Spider-man: Homecoming, Peter Parker Whump, Self-Harm, Some Humor, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, he's just a kid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-08-23 01:22:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16609172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katie_Phars/pseuds/Katie_Phars
Summary: Peter received his powers only to find he lacked the right spirit to use them. The death of his Uncle solidified that for him. In order to make up for his mistake, he went out as the vigilante "Spiderman." Yet, when he is taken into custody by the Avengers, he finds out he misunderstood what Uncle Ben meant by, "With great power comes great responsibility."Or: Peter accidentally killed a few criminals, befriends a (somewhat batshit crazy) merc with a mouth, is targeted and imprisoned by the Avengers, and learns how to live again, just not in that specific order.





	1. Statue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You were my Oxygen  
> And now its hard to breathe  
> This is the final page  
> So now I'll set you free  
> You were my everything  
> I was your empathy  
> I'll take the blame  
> If you take my conscious

**T-48:27:31**

Peter felt like he was dying.

The clothes on his skin felt like splinters on his skin, every sound amplified to the point where even the muted sizzling of the eggs Aunt May was frying rooms away was painful. The pipes that carried water throughout the apartment complex were excruciating, while the smells were nauseating. The vibrations everywhere were like a booming bass in Peter’s bones, and the lights were just too bright.

Never before had Peter wished he had gotten the flu vaccine. Yet he didn’t. Kudos to past Peter.

He was infinitely grateful the symptoms were getting better. Although, something didn’t sit right with the teenager. Didn’t the flu cause vomiting, coughing, and sneezing, or at least something of the sort? All Peter’s symptoms pointed closer to a sensory overload. The scientist in Peter's brain couldn't help but wonder why.

  
  


**T-12:43:02**

May frowned as she eyed the shortage of eggs and dairy in the fridge. With a brief glance to the clock, she sighed and made a mental note to herself to let Ben know.

Maybe he could take Peter with him.

  
  


**T-0:12:29**

“Are you feeling better, Peter?” Uncle Ben inquired through the door. When Peter failed to answer, he cracked the door open just enough to peek through and find Peter on the ceiling.

“Well. Okay then,” the man stated, face pale and eyebrows drawn. “Why are you...hanging around?”

Peter watched the man with wide eyes before he burst into giggles and promptly fell from the ceiling. Uncle Ben stopped laughing for a second to catch the airborne teen before he became a pancake.

They sat on Peter's bed for a moment before Uncle Ben eloquently asked, “How were you on the ceiling?”

Peter thought for a solid minute before he answered, “I think that spider was poisonous.”

Uncle Ben looked thoughtful for a moment before he remarked, “You know, with great power comes great responsibility. Make sure to use your ceiling sticking for the better. If I find out you use it to peak on the girls, then we'll have to have  _ a talk _ .”

Peter snorted.

“Now, do you feel up to going to the store with me?” Ben questioned. Peter almost received whiplash from the topic change.

“Um...sure?” Peter answered uncertainty, an eyebrow raised.

 

**T-00:02:11**

Peter didn't think twice as he walked past the alley. His enhanced hearing could hear the begging of a man as another threatened him.  _ Not my problem _ , the teen reasoned as they continued to walk to the store.

 

**T-00:00:13**

That voice...it belonged to the man from the alley!

 

**T-00:00:00**

The boom was deafening.

 

**00:00:05**

The man ran. Ben was on the cold, cracked concrete.

 

**00:01:02**

He wouldn't get up.  _ He wouldn't get up. _

 

**00:05:17**

The carmine fluid had spread to where Peter kneeled, staining his pants while he begged, pleaded,  _ screamed  _ for Ben to wake up.

 

**00:11:48**

He didn't. He never would again. Uncle Ben was dead.

 

**00:13:34**

And it was all Peter's fault.

 

**01:02:21**

With great power comes great responsibility.


	2. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicide (towards end), murder, vague suicidal thoughts, some crackish stuff

Chapter 1: The Beginning  


 

“Hey, Spidey! Nice to see you again!”

Peter sighed as he registered the voice behind him. “Is it really?” the teen muttered under his breath before he turned around to face the overgrown puppy. “Hi, Wade.”

The mercenary seemed to vibrate in excitement. “OH EM GEE! You remembered me!” the man squealed, his arms wrapped around his torso.

“As someone wise once said, ‘The extreme always makes an impression,’” Peter quoted monotonously as he wiped the blood from his hands onto the bottoms of his costume.

“Gasp,” Deadpool breathed, “Did you just quote Jeff Hardy? Because if so, let me tell you. I would tap that,” he continued seriously.

Peter raised one eyebrow at the mercenary. “Hell no,” he began. “I'm quoting Jason Dean, who, for your information, I would rather tap than Jeff Hardy.”

Deadpool loosed another squeal, his hands dramatically placed over his cheeks in surprise. “You're a  _ Heathers  _ fan? Oh my golly gee goodness, I love  _ Heathers _ !”

“Musical or movie,” Peter demanded, voice slightly higher than normal in excitement 

“Hmm, that's a hard choice…” The man pinched his chin as he thought to himself for a solid minute before he yelled, “Movie! Christian Slate is bae! Although Ryan McCartan...his voice is to die for…”

Peter almost giggled as Wade devolved into a debate with himself and his boxes. After a while, he solidly replied, “I love my dead gay son.”

Peter's resolve crumbled as he cackled. “This is going to such big fun,” he pushed through his laughter.

“If you want, we could take this to my place. Remake Deadgirl Walking,” Wade suggested with a wiggle of the eyebrow area of his mask.

Peter instantly sobered up. “I'm afraid that won't be something I could do,” he answered firmly, his eyes staring into the whites of Deadpool's mask.

“Oh shit. Are you straight? In a fanfiction?” he questioned, the eyes of his mask widened comically.

“No, I'm worse,” Peter began. “I'm jailbait.”

Deadpool's jaw dropped before he turned around. “Of course I didn't cockfucking know he wasn't an adult! You're in my head, White! How- Oh really? And you  _ didn't think to tell me  _ you-you fucking cocksucking son of a bitch!?” Wade dissolved into more creative cursing before he abruptly stopped and turned back around.

“I'll be taking my leave then, kiddo,” the man waved joyfully before he abruptly jumped out of the alleyway into the path of a semi.

Peter shook his head at the theatrics before he webbed away to the alley that contained his backpack.

He had an Aunt to go home to, after all.

* * *

 

Peter avoided May's worried expression as he left his room. There was nothing he could do that would alleviate her affliction; he had long since stopped trying.

The teen was almost certain she knew he wasn't in his room at night. He was also certain she knew he had skipped the last two days of school. Hence why she insisted on taking him to school instead of leaving him to do it himself.

As the two stood awkwardly in the too loud subway, he listened to the conversations nearby. There was a couple whisper shouting about who should pick up dinner (apparently one of the females had bought dinner for the past three weeks in a row), a child pointing to the man without an arm (the guardian quickly shushed him), and a pair of teens talking about the new vigilante in Queens.

“I heard they're calling him Spiderman,” the first teen, a female with hair so pale a blonde it almost looked white, whispered.

The other nodded seriously, his curly violet beach wave hair bobbing with him. “Yeah. Did you hear what happened to his victim last night?”

The pale blonde narrowed her eyes in consideration before she shook her head. “What happened?” she inquired.

“Apparently the person he ‘apprehended,’’’ the teen pulled his hands out of his pockets for long enough to perform some air quotations, “died on the way to the hospital.”

Peter stiffened. He didn't kill anyone, he was better than that. He might rough them up a little, break a few bones, but he never, ever, killed  _ anyone _ . 

But didn't he?

Peter knew he had hit the man a bit excessively, but didn't he have the right? The man was going to rape that poor lady under the bridge, and it brought all the memories of Skip back to the surface, and, and, and — 

The man deserved it. It was the only way to protect the most people. The recidivism rate was really high, right? It was the only way. The only one.

He'd just have to be more careful about controlling his strength in the future.

He was brought back from his thoughts by a small pull on his sleeve — Aunt May. He sent her a reassuring smile to ease the smallest iota of her concern before he focused on the names of the stops left.

* * *

 

School wasn't nearly as boring when Peter constantly had to play catch up. He even had to be reminded about a rule in mathematics for once. He was actually  _ learning. _

He wished he could skip more often. Aunt May would never allow it, though. After all, Uncle Ben had been dead for three months. She could only allow him so much time.

The teen was interrupted from his thoughts as the teacher called on him to answer the question on the board. With a sigh, he complied, working the problem until he reached the final answer and sat back down.

He pretended not to notice the surprised murmurs throughout the body of students, letting Peter know that, no, they hadn't learned that yet, and his teacher was an asshole for tricking him. The teen may or may not have also heard the teacher swear, “Fuckin’ hell.”

Yay for enhanced senses.

* * *

 

Peter paused outside the apartment complex, viewing the expensive car outside with a wary eye. There was no way the car belonged to someone in the complex — if they could afford a car like that they could afford to live somewhere else: somewhere with thicker walls and without mold.

With a steadying breath, he entered the complex and took the familiar route to the apartment he shared with May. He made it in record time, as adrenaline flooded his veins. He threw the door open, unable and unwilling to control his strength at a degree as high as normal, as he called out, “Aunt May?”

His relief was almost palpable when May answered, but instantly soured when she stepped into view with none other than Tony Stark beside her.

“Why didn't you tell me you applied for an internship with Stark Industries?’ she questioned, hot chocolate eyes warm with pride.

Mr. Stark's eyes bored intensely into Peter's. The teen blanched before he improvised, “I didn't think it would come to anything.”

“Thank you very much for the hospitality, Mrs. Parker. Now if I could speak to Peter about his internship, I have a few minor details we still need to work out,” the man interjected, a wide smile on his face to showcase his perfect teeth.

May seemed to catch the hint and nodded before she pulled Peter into a tight embrace. “I'm so proud of you, honey,” she murmured into his ear. Peter hugged her back carefully. “Why don't you show Mr. Stark to your room?” she suggested as she pulled away.

Peter hesitated for a moment before he shrugged. She lightly punched his shoulder before she walked to the living room, stopping only to grab the vacuum from the closet.

“Right this way, Mr. Stark,” Peter directed, tone polite and saccharine. The man silently followed him, hands neatly folded in front of him. The teen opened the door for the billionaire with minor hesitation before he entered the room himself. 

The door quietly shut behind him with a small  _ click _ . Peter couldn't help but think it signified his imminent demise. He'd only been Spiderman for a month and he had already been caught.

“Mr. Parker, I’ve been looking for promising students at the specialized schools here in New York, and your grades caught my attention. Most people with your course load would be incapable of keeping the grades you do. As such, I would like to offer you an internship at Stark Industries,” Mr. Stark stated matter-of-factly.

“An internship?” Peter questioned faintly.

Mr. Stark’s left eyebrow quirked slightly as he slowly replied, “Yes, an internship.”

Peter loosed a small, “Oh,” before he sank onto his bed, his knees weak. Relief flooded his body as he felt his unconsciously tense muscles relax before he melted into the soft mattress.

“What, did you expect something else? You running an underground mafia or some shit?” Mr. Stark joked, a smirk on his face. “Anyway, kid, if you accept, I'll need you to sign a few waivers.”

The teen considered the man in front of him before as he thought about his options. If he accepted, he would have something great to put on his resume. However, he would also be at risk. Tony Stark was a  _ genius _ . How long would it take the man to find out who he was?

Then again, if Mr. Stark were to get too close, Peter could quit.

“...I…” Peter paused as he gathered his strength to continue. “Will this be a paid internship?” he weakly asked as he searched for an excuse — any excuse — to escape Mr. Stark's attention.

“Sure,” Mr. Stark easily answered.

Peter hesitated for a single moment more before he answered, “Ok.”

Mr. Stark grinned.

* * *

 

The first day of his internship lead to several almost-heart-attacks and quite a few bouts of justified paranoia. Peter had to fingerprinted, receive a retina scan, allow body measurements, and have his picture taken — from multiple angles. Then Peter had to fill out his family and medical history. Then his criminal history. The paperwork seemed to have no end.

“Is the security here really this tight?” Peter asked the brunette secretary at the desk.

She briefly looked up from her computer (on which Peter suspected she was about to lose her game of Minesweeper) and simply answered, “No.” She turned back to her computer.

_ What is my life _ , Peter silently questioned to himself as he finished the last question. He presented the packet to the secretary and sat back down in the mildly uncomfortable chair. 

The teen waited for approximately ten minutes until the secretary directed him to the elevator off to the side of the room. Peter silently obliged, only to find the elevator was without buttons.

“Mr. Parker, would you like to be brought to Sir's lab?” a feminine, Irish voice clinically stated.

Peter startled before he silently nodded his assent, his ears peeled for the sound of another person's breathing. When he didn't hear any, he looked around for a speaker, and, once more, found nothing. “What's your name?” Peter questioned in the hopes to triangulate where the voice came from.

“My name is F.R.I.D.A.Y.. I am a U.I. created by Sir,” the voice stated calmly.

“Oh...um...hello, Friday. I'm Peter. Parker. Peter Parker. Nice to meet you,” Peter stammered out. Where was the speaker!

The doors to the elevator opened without Peter's curiosity stated. In A reluctant response, he dragged his feet out of the elevator and entered the lab.

“Ah, Peter! You're here!” a voice called out from under a table. There was a rustling sound before a couple  _ clangs _ , and Mr. Stark emerged in all his glory.

He smelled terrible.

Peter attempted to avoid scrunching his nose as he suffered through the enhanced scent of body odor and the lightest sprinkling of iron — blood. He examined the man before him for any major injuries and, when he found none, assumed it was an inconsequential wound. 

“What do you want me to do?” Peter forced out, eager to escape the man's stench.

And that was how Peter found himself quizzed on various technical terms and scientific theories.

After a few hours, Mr. Stark seemed at a loss of what to ask next. “Why are you still in high school?” he finally questioned.

Peter shrugged. How was he supposed to explain he didn't have time to learn anything? How was he supposed to explain that even if he did have time, he didn't have the money? He kept it simple. Simple and impersonal.

“Seriously, kid, I'm a genius, and you're keeping up with me. Hell, you’re a step ahead of me sometimes! You must be bored out of your mind in class.”

Peter shrugged once more. 

Mr. Stark sighed. “Why don't you design something and bring it to me when you're done. The supplies are over there, “ he pointed to the far corner of the room, where a few cabinets and a desk resided, “in the second drawer.”

Peter meekly nodded as he walked towards the desk. This was going to be a long internship.

* * *

 

When the day was over, Peter was driven home by Mr. Stark's head of security: an overweight man in a tuxedo named Happy. Peter briefly wondered if Happy's parents hated him to name him as such.

The car ride was silent until Happy pulled to the edge of the road in front of Peter's apartment building. “This is you,” he simply stated. Peter quietly thanked him and left the car.

* * *

 

May had a late night shift at the hospital, so Peter was free to patrol all night long.

(Not that it would matter anyway. Aunt May already knew he spent some nights out. He couldn't see how she wouldn't.)

He ate a small meal before he donned his suit. The hoodie desperately needed a good wash, and the pants needed to be mended in a few places (mainly over the knees), but would have to wait. After all, there was little he could do in his ordinary clothes without revealing his identity.

Peter silently jumped out the window and swung towards the seedier parts of Queens. After a few minutes of travel, he settled on the roof of an old café, his ears open and his brain open to the constant tingle of anxiety he had dubbed his Spidey-Sense.

After a few false alarms (his Spidey-Sense  _ was  _ essentially heightened anxiety) and misunderstandings, Peter heard the magic words.

“Give me your wallet or I'll shoot!”

He pinpointed the location of the robber (his voice sounded...familiar?) before he jumped off the side of the roof.

(No one would know that he didn't want to catch himself, that he wanted to just fall, fall, fall.)

A few swings later, Peter saw the criminal, and promptly proceeded to blink several times. There, fifteen feet away from him, was the man that killed Ben.

Cold, cold filled the teen.  _ This man  _ killed Ben.  _ This man  _ ruined Peter's life.  _ This man  _ put Aunt May in pain.  _ This man  _ made Spiderman.

The victim changed from a priority to a minor inconvenience.

Quietly, Peter climbed down from the roof he had landed on to the ground behind the villain. He balled his hands into fists (his thumb outside of the grip — he didn't want to break his thumbs again) and slowly stalked up behind the villain's back. With a small breath, Peter fell into a stable stance.

Peter almost loosed a right hook to the villain's jaw before he decided he wanted him conscious. He adjusted his momentum to hit him in the side instead.

The villain flew towards the alley wall with a startled shout. The villain laid still for a few tense seconds before he pushed himself a few inches from the ground with a groan. He glanced towards Peter, his eyes wide in terror as he started to crawl towards the street at the end of the alley, a short distance of five or so feet.

“Oh, no you don't,” Peter mumbled to himself. Lazily, he launched himself into the villain, a wide smile on his face.

He had waited for this moment ever since the villain broke the teen. Now, Peter was going to break him.

The teen threw the villain back into the alley, far from the main road and boxed in by the surrounding buildings.

“Stop!” someone shouted. Peter turned towards the source of the voice to find the victim, a woman in her mid-thirties to early-forties stood a few yards away, years in her eyes and her hands balled into fists.

With as much patience as Peter had left, he threatened, “Go away, or I'll k-kill you too.”

The woman flinched but held her ground. “I can't let you kill this man.”

“I see,” Peter stated as his fury lended to his apathy. He walked towards the woman, only stopping when he was a foot away from her. “Do you have a family?” he questioned dispassionately.

Her face solidified as she quietly said, “Yes. I have two kids and a husband.”

For a second, Peter hesitated — but it only lasted that: a second. He pushed his hands forward until they were wrapped around her neck. He started to squeeze-

“This isn't you, Baby Boy,” Deadpool solemnly stated from behind Peter. He was starting to think the universe had something against him. With a sigh, he let go of the woman's neck, only to throw her, as she coughed, into the back of the alley with the villain.

“How do you know what I am and am not, Deadpool. You literally met me four days ago,” Peter borderline yelled in frustration.

“Touché,” the older man started, “But you don't need to do this. You're too young to begin this type of life.”

Peter's mouth twisted into a snarl as he took a deep breath. “Don't you know? I already have.”

“Not this way,” the man argued. “This would be pure, unadulterated, cold-blooded murder.”

Peter's last ounce of patience left. “Get the  _ fuck _ out of my way,” Peter ordered Deadpool.

“No,” he firmly stated.

The teen narrowed his eyes as he examined the area around him. “What are you going to do if I try anyways?”

“I'll stop you,” Deadpool stated confidently.

The villain's gun was two feet away from Peter, hidden behind a crate and out of Deadpool's sight. Slowly, the teen inched towards the weapon. “What. Are you going to kill me?”

Deadpool has the gall to look offended (how he achieved that with a mask, Peter wasn't sure; then again, he wasn't one to talk). “I don't kill children, you know that!”

“That's too bad,” Peter mused. Carefully, he sat on the crate, his legs crossed in front of him and his arms back. He webbed the gun into his right hand, glad the safety was already off. “That man doesn't seem to have any qualms doing so,” he misdirected.

Deadpool took the bait (bless his non-existent attention span) and Peter shot him.

How he managed to hit Deadpool's head, Peter wasn't sure. He simply took his blessing and moved back to the woman and the villain. Peter wrapped his fingers around the woman's trachea again. Tears dripped from her eyes onto his arms, but he ignored them. He pressed harder and harder and harder until he heard a loud  _ crack _ .

The woman went limp. Peter listened for a few seconds for a heartbeat, and, upon finding none, threw her away like a broken toy.

He moved towards the villain, a wide smile upon his face. He bent towards the villain. “I am  _ so  _ ready for this moment. You really shouldn't have ruined my life,” Peter whispered into the villain's ear. 

Then there was a loud  _ bang _ . Warm blood splattered Peter's body as his eyes registered the gaping hole in the villain's head.

“You'll thank me someday.”

Peter roared as his wrath consumed him. He turned towards Deadpool only to find he had left, his blood the only part of him left behind.

With nothing else to turn his fury upon, Peter  _ tore  _ into the corpse, his mind an incoherent mess.

The rest of his patrol continued the same way. He was merciless to the criminals he stopped; some barely escaped with a broken bone or two, while others never made it out of the area Peter found them in.

* * *

 

Spiderman was now public enemy number one, with an alleged death count of thirty-seven people.

Peter couldn't bring himself to care.

* * *

 

Quietly, Peter crept into the apartment through his window. The sun had just began to creep above the horizon, and Peter was beginning to feel his body weaken from the strain of no meals, sleep deprivation, and arduous exercise. He closed the window behind him before he passed out on his bed.

* * *

 

May silently opened the door to Peter's room. She had no assurance he would be there, nor did she know if he would be awake or not. She just wanted to see him. She wanted to prove to her mind that he was still alive. 

He was there, soundly asleep on his bed despite the time. She smiled. Then she saw the blood. 

Peter's clothes were covered in it. Panic encompassed May as she rushed over to his side. “Peter. Peter! Wake up!” she cried.

He stirred slightly before he suddenly sat up. “Aunt May? What's wrong?” he demanded, his eyes wide in concern.

The realization hit her like a ton of steel. The blood wasn't his. “You're late for school!” she quickly improvised.

“Oh,” he quietly stated. “What time is it?”

“It's 12 o'clock, honey.”

Peter took a moment to absorb the information. “Oops,” he quietly said. 

“Oops is right. Now skedaddle, or you won't make it at all!” May demanded, a fake smile on her face.

She knew what she had to do, and Peter couldn't be home for it to work.

* * *

 

School was fun.

The constant paranoia that someone was watching him followed Peter constantly: in the bathroom, in the classroom, during passing time. He knew it was just that — paranoia. There was no way people could confuse puny little Parker with the large and strong Spiderman. There was no way someone could connect the dots to Peter, and that was who he was.

Except Wade. Peter wouldn’t put anything past the mercenary.

Then there was the whispering. It always followed him at school, as the smartest one, as the one whose uncle died, as the one who had such an unfortunate life, orphaned and poor. Normally he was able to ignore it, but now it felt as if it was all about what he’d done. 

Since he’d slept in so late, he’d only had to attend a few classes until he was able to leave once more. He eagerly watched the clock as the seconds passed. That was, until he remembered he had to go to his internship.

He anxiously watched the seconds pass by.

Yet, like many things in life, time couldn’t be stopped and he soon found himself in an expensive car on the way to Stark Tower. They day passed much like the last one: Peter built stuff and Mr. Stark looked it over before he questioned him about why he was in high school instead of college once more. Peter took it all silently. 

Once it was finally time to go, Mr. Stark made to leave as well. Still, Peter didn’t think much of it. It was getting a bit late. Maybe he had to go to his own home.

When they got into the same car, Peter allowed his confusion to run rampant. “What are you doing?” he questioned, his eyebrow raised in confusion.

Mr. Stark looked at Peter for a moment before he replied, “I have a few things I need to talk to that beautiful aunt of yours about.”

Peter’s mind blared in alarm. “Like?”

“Nothing much,” Mr. Stark shrugged. “Just plans for the future.”

He relaxed. “Ok then. Have fun with that.”

Mr. Stark stared at him for a minute before he shook his head and turned to his own window.

The rest of the ride was silent.

* * *

 

Peter glared at the lock. While it wasn’t unusual for the front door to be locked, it seemed a bit out of place. The teen shrugged before he produced his key from his pocket.   
“Aunt May, I’m home!” he called from the door once he got it open. Once more, there wasn’t a reply. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of blood. Did he clean his suit after the night prior? He couldn’t recall. What  _ did  _ he do with his suit?

As Peter looked around the house for May, he noticed a slip of paper on the table. A sense of dread overcame him.

“Is your aunt home?” Mr. Stark questioned, startling Peter.

“She should be,” he curtly replied as he started to scan the note. He was only a few lines in when he dropped the piece of paper and ran towards her bedroom door. “Aunt May!” he cried out. The scent of blood only grew stronger as he threw the door open.

She was there, on her bed. Her skin was grey and sheets soaked carmine as Peter dashed to her side. Her hair was matted with blood as bits of brain and skull and skin were scattered on the headboard of the bed.

The last bit of Peter broke.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fanfiction will probably update very slowly.  
> Fun Fact: Apparently it wasn't enough for the universe to dictate I share a birthday with Charles Manson; I also have to spend every birthday grieving for the real hero of the Marvel Universe: Stan Lee ;-;  
> Another Fun Fact: At least Anne Hathaway was born on November 12th as well
> 
> Chapter title and beginning notes from EDEN's song Statue


End file.
